


Mr. Sharp

by Applesandbannas747



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Genre: F/M, genderqueer Deryn Sharp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesandbannas747/pseuds/Applesandbannas747
Summary: Deryn Sharp isn't afraid of anything but fire. And, sometimes, skirts.





	Mr. Sharp

“Out, out,  _get out!”_  Deryn’s voice rang through the small house and Alek glanced up the stairway, alarmed. Jaspert Sharp caught his eye from across the cozy living room and shrugged. Stomping, muffled shouting, and the loud  _thump_  of a heavy door came next, followed by three women coming down the stairs looking disgruntled.

“ _Mr._  Sharp,” Bovril chirped from Alek’s shoulder. “Stuffed into skirts!”

“Yes, I know,” Alek said, lifting the loris from his shoulder and setting it down on the couch. Bovril happily grabbed a biscuit and gave Alek a look that he’d have sworn meant  _well, hurry, you ninny!_  Alek stood and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I know it’s terribly improper to enter a young lady’s room,” though he’d been in Deryn’s various rooms frequently, “especially at her own house, but Deryn sounds terribly upset. I think it would be best if I went and checked in on her.”

Before Deryn’s Mother or aunts could say anything, Alek was bounding up the stairs. He found Deryn’s room easily—it was the only one with a closed door. He knocked on it tentatively.

“Deryn? Can I come in?” She didn’t answer, and Alek knocked harder. He’d worried about this, really. He hadn’t even needed Bovril’s perspicacious insight this morning to know how Deryn would feel upon being stuffed back into skirts today. They’d arrived at her house not even an hour earlier and her mother and aunts had whisked her away at once. Bovril and Alek had both known to be worried. “I must insist you open the door, Mr. Sharp.”

“Aye, your princeliness,” and the door opened slowly. Alek stepped in, letting the door bang shut behind him. He winced—the propriety of this was sure to get him in trouble with the women downstairs. Perhaps with Jaspert, too.

Deryn had already retreated to the corner of the room, and Alek hardly registered how lovely she looked in the yellow dress she wore. No, all he saw was the panicked look in her eye, like an animal trapped and frantic. Yes, he and Bovril had predicted this.

Her fists were tangled in her skirts and she looked at Alek with fear. And that wasn’t right—Deryn Sharp wasn’t scared of anything but fire.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly. But he knew she wasn’t. Her eyes met his and then skittered away, fixing on the floor. She looked ready to cry. Or punch someone. Possibly both. He cautiously approached her, opening his arms. He was relieved when she gratefully fell into them. Her hands twined in his jacket, abandoning their strangulation of the yellow skirt, and her face nestled into the nook of his neck. She took deep, shaking breaths.

“This isn’t me,” she spat, the words tumbling out in a desperate pile.

“I know,” Alek said softly.

“I’m not— _this_ ,” she made a sound of frustration and pulled away from Alek slightly.

“I know you’re not.”

“No—I mean that I’m not a proper girl,” she set her jaw and then met his eyes fiercely, though he could easily see the fear in them. “Blast, that’s not right, I  _mean_  I’m not properly a girl.”

“I  _know_ ,” Alek said, trying to reassure her.

“ _No—_ you don’t understand, I’m—,”

“More Dylan today than usual, aren’t you, Mr. Sharp?” Alek asked, and the expression on Dylan’s face made his heart ache. Then came a nod. “We thought so,” Alek nodded with more certainty than Dylan had.

“We?”

“Bovril and I. Not that I needed its help. Really, it’s been clear since the start that gender doesn’t effect you the same way it does other people.”

“You mean—you don’t mind?”

“No, of course not,” Alek couldn’t help but pull Dylan against him, guiding his head back onto his shoulder. “I should’ve told you sooner, I suppose, but there didn’t seem to be any need. I mean, you always seem so sure about everything you do. I’ve known for ages that you have two names, and it doesn’t matter to me which I call you so long as you’re  _you_.”

“I’m barking mad, aren’t I? Dressing in britches must’ve scrambled my attic permanently.”

“I very much doubt you were ever properly a proper girl, Dylan. But, yes, you are quite mad.”

Dylan pulled away from him then, to give him a good punch in the arm. Alek winced and rubbed the wounded spot. “You could at least go easy on me when I haven’t really earned your anger.”

“That was going easy, you ninny.”

Alek laughed. It really didn’t matter what name he called Dylan, he was always the same. Which meant Alek got punched rather a lot.

“Shall we get you of those clothes, then?” Alek asked, realizing he’d made a mistake as Dylan burst into laughter.

“Did you—did you just ask to help me  _undress_  in my bedroom?” Dylan howled with laughter, and Alek’s face went hot. “My whole family is downstairs, you animal,” he tried to say this with a straight face, but ended up laughing through the whole line.

“I didn’t mean—I was just—I would  _never_ — I’m not a—,” Alek was sure he’d never felt more embarrassed in his life. Dylan just kept laughing. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Alek said dryly, marching out of his room and helping the door to close with a satisfying  _thump_. He could hear Dylan’s laughing even through the door and all the way down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those 'moments' my mind likes to revisit when i'm falling asleep (yes, i write fanfiction in my head as i fall asleep, fight me) and after asking Scott Westerfeld at a signing recently if Deryn would relate to the label of genderqueer if such a word/idea existed at that time and he said that yes, that was a true reading of the books, i couldn't help but share this little tidbit with you all


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